The Alien’s Vicious Starflash Manor (Empire of Frost and Flame #2)

Chapter 24

CHAPTER 24

IVRAEL

T he next day’s lessons don’t go much any better—but at least they don’t go worse.

“Before we retire for the evening,” I say after another unpleasant dinner, “I have something to show you all.”

As I push my chair back and lead the group outside, though, I find myself wondering if it’s foolish to take them to the maze when we’re all so very tired.

Not that we have any time to rest.

I lead our small group to the ice maze glowing in the moonlight. My magic hums beneath my skin, responding to Syella’s creation.

“Impressive workmanship,” Uanna observes, her pale blue eyes assessing every detail.

Her white-blonde hair catches the starlight, reminding me uncomfortably of countless stolen moments in frozen gardens. But those memories hold no power over me now—not with Lara walking just ahead.

I can’t help tracking her movements, the way she wraps her arms around herself against the cold.

“The Evans sisters will need to master this before the summit,” I say as I force my attention back to the task at hand. “Every turn, every pattern must be memorized.”

Vazor’s golden scales catch the moonlight as he examines the maze’s entrance. “An exact copy of Jonyk’s maze?”

“Down to the last detail.” I gesture toward the archway where pale patterns thread through the ice, barely visible unless you know to look for them. “Including all his little... surprises.”

His daughters exchange glances—Rhaela’s hand drifting to the knife at her belt while Harai’s expression turns thoughtful. The golden-red scales along their necks catch the light, so different from their father’s pure gold markings.

But it’s Lara who draws my gaze again, her copper-gold curls dancing in the wind. She studies the maze entrance with that fierce intensity that makes my blood burn despite the cold. Her sister stands close beside her, their shoulders touching as they whisper together.

“Perhaps,” Vazor suggests, “the girls should begin their practice now.”

“Now?” My voice crackles with icy emotion as I turn to face him.

Vazor’s scaled hand gestures toward the maze. “No time like the present.”

“The maze contains certain... hazards. They shouldn’t attempt it alone.”

“They won’t be alone,” Harai points out, moving to stand beside Lara. “We’ll go with them.”

Rhaela nods, her short spiky hair catching starlight. “We can handle whatever tricks the prince has planned.”

I want to argue, but Uanna’s smirk stops me. “Surely you’re not worried about their safety?”

I want to lash out—her voice carries that edge of mockery I remember too well—but I grit my teeth and remain quiet.

“Not with two firelord warriors to protect them?” she continues.

My jaw clenches even tighter as I struggle to maintain my mask of cold indifference.

“We’ll be fine.” Lara’s gaze meets mine, and something molten stirs in my chest at the challenge I see there.

“Very well.” The words almost freeze on my tongue. “But stay alert. Some of the traps are subtle.”

I watch the four women move deeper into the maze, not trusting myself to speak.

Above us, the runes pulse with ethereal light, spelling out warnings and directions in ancient script. Will Lara be able to read them?

Am I sending her to her death?

“Stop thinking so hard.” Uanna’s voice breaks through my thoughts. “You’re making it snow.”

I glance up to find she’s right—ice crystals swirl around us, catching moonlight like diamond dust.

With effort, I pull my power back under control.

“The girls will be fine,” Vazor says, his confidence grating against my nerves. “Rhaela and Harai won’t let anything happen to them.”

“And if they fail?” The question escapes before I can stop it.

“Then we’ll know they weren’t strong enough to survive court anyway.” Uanna’s words cut straight through me. “Better to lose them here than have them expose us all.”

She’s right. But the thought of Lara broken behind these ice walls...

“It’s necessary,” Uanna says. “You know that.”

I do know. That’s what makes it worse.

“The twins will protect them,” Vazor repeats, his confidence unchanged. “You’ll see.”

“We should head back.” I turn away from their too-perceptive stares. “There’s much to prepare for tomorrow.”

Vazor nods his agreement. “The girls can find their own way back once they’ve explored a bit.”

We make our way toward the exit in silence, and all I can think is that I’ve sent Lara into a beautiful deathtrap. And if she dies, I’ll have to maintain my mask of cold control while everything inside me screams.

I can’t do it.

“You go ahead,” I tell the other two. “I’ll catch up in a moment.”

Uanna raises her eyebrows, but then shrugs. “It’s up to you.”

Vazor shakes his head and follows Uanna, back toward the manor.

I wait until all I can see of them are mere smudges in the moonlight. Then I slip into the maze.

The ice walls tower above me, their surfaces catching and fracturing light until it’s impossible to tell what’s reflection and what’s reality. Every breath clouds in the air, joining the mist that curls around my feet like a living thing.

I slip through paths I’ve memorized until I hear Lara’s voice. They make a wrong turn, and I slip ahead, stepping back into a dead-end path, standing deep in the shadows.

My breath clouds in sharp plumes as the firelord twins and Izzy dart ahead, their silhouettes flickering between translucent ice columns. Lara hesitates, her soft curves momentarily out of sync with the group’s movement.

Perfect.

Almost as if it was meant to be.

My hand shoots out, fingers closing around her delicate wrist. She gasps—a quick, startled sound that vibrates through my body like electricity. Before she can protest, I pull her into my narrow side passage.

“Ivrael—” she starts, but her words dissolve as I press her against the glittering wall. The cold surface behind her contrasts with the heat radiating between us.

“Silence,” I murmur, my voice low and commanding.

Her breath catches. Her pupils dilate.

She wants this as much as I do.

The frost of my fingertips traces her delicate jawline, a whisper of cold against her flushed skin. I trace the delicate line of her throat. She shudders—not from fear, but anticipation. Her breath catches—trembling, vulnerable, caught between resistance and raw desire.

Mine.

Unable to stop myself, I crush my mouth against hers. Passionate. Demanding. Claiming.

I pull back just enough to look into her eyes—those wide eyes that never fully submit, always flickering with something wild.

“You will not look away,” I command, my voice a slow glacial rumble.

Her pulse flutters at her throat. I can see it beating, hear its rapid rhythm that betrays her true hunger. For all her defiance, her body reveals what her lips will not.

I bend my head back to hers.

My tongue presses against her mouth, demanding entrance. Not asking. Commanding. A territorial invasion that makes her breath hitch—half protest, half anticipation.

The line between conquest and seduction blurs, and I am master of both.

She remains motionless, a delicate bird caught in a predatory grip.

Waiting. Wanting.

She doesn’t resist. Not truly.

She wants me to break her, one devastating touch at a time.

Finally, Lara gives a soft sigh—part acquiescence, part yearning.

The sound is delicate, almost imperceptible, but to me, it’s a thunderclap of submission. Her lips part, surrendering to the violent hunger between us, sending electricity crackling through my veins.

I plunder her mouth.

There is no gentleness in my kiss. I take her fully, my tongue claiming every hidden corner of her warmth. She tastes like rebellion and surrender, a contradiction that sets my blood burning—a complex flavor that ignites something primal within me. My hand catches the back of her neck, fingers spread like a brand of possession, holding her exactly where I want her.

My magic whispers along my skin, frost crystallizing at the edges of our connection. Cold and burning, I consume her.

My cock hardens, pressing urgently against her, the memory of her mouth taking the length of me—surrounding me, wet, warm, obedient—flooding my senses. I remember how she looked that night in the gallery, looking up in perfect submission.

My hand slides beneath her dress, rough fingers trailing up her silken inner thigh. The fabric bunches under my touch.

Her breath catches—a sharp, desperate sound that tells me exactly how much she wants this. Wants me.

My fingers continue their ascent, skating closer to the heat between her thighs. She quivers, caught between resistance and raw, primal desire.

I know her better than she knows herself—every subtle shift, every unconscious response.

The ice walls around us seem to pulse with our shared heat, a stark contrast of frozen crystal and burning need.

A soft moan escapes her lips, vibrating against my chest. The sound undoes something inside me—what little is left of my control fractures, desire surging through my veins. Her response is exquisite, her body arching involuntarily into mine.

When I kiss her again, she tastes like starlight and storms. Her warmth seeps into me as my fingers continue to tease along her thigh, fluttering across her heated sex. The contrast of temperatures makes us both shiver—her heat against my cold, her softness against my sharp edges.

The kiss deepens, and my magic responds to her nearness, sending frost fractals spiraling across the walls around us. I should pull away. Should remember my purpose, my plans, my duty.

Instead, I lose myself in her warmth for one more stolen moment.

Until a distant call shatters our intimate moment.

“Lara?” Izzy’s voice echoes through the crystalline corridors. “Lara, where are you?”

The interruption is sharp, sudden—like a blade cutting through our moment. I can feel Lara stiffen against me, her breath catching, the spell of our intimacy fracturing with her sister’s approaching footsteps.

My hand remains under her dress, fingers pressed against her heated skin. We’re frozen—not by the ice surrounding us, but by the electric tension of potential discovery.

Her eyes meet mine. Wide. Desperate. Conflicted.

With a growl that is more restrained command than disappointment, I release her.

My body protests—every instinct screams to claim her, to press her against these frost-slick walls and finish what we’ve started. But discipline, my oldest companion, wins.

I step back, my hand sliding from beneath her dress, trailing against her skin. She stumbles—not from weakness, but from the sudden loss of my supporting strength.

Her breath comes in quick, ragged gasps. Strands of hair have escaped her careful binding, framing her flushed cheeks. Her dress is askew, evidence of our interrupted encounter. She looks deliciously disheveled, marked by my touch even as I release her.

“You should catch up with the others,” I force myself to say, each word an icicle through my chest.

She studies my face for a long moment before nodding. She turns, her body moving with a mix of desperation and confusion. Half wanting to stay, half needing to escape.

Her feet carry her toward her sister’s call, her movements unsteady.

Away from me.

I say nothing, letting the wind carry away the words I can’t speak.

Because what I want to say is that none of this should be necessary. That I never wanted to put her in danger, to risk her life for my plans.

Then she’s gone, leaving only lingering warmth and the scent of snowfly honey in her wake, and it’s too late for any words I might have wanted to say, anyway.

I press my palm against the maze wall, watching frost spread from my fingers. The patterns mock me with their beauty, their perfection.

Their inevitable destruction.

I allow myself one more moment to remember the taste of starlight on my tongue.

And then I return to the manor.

Because our departure for the Ice Court looms, and time runs ever shorter.